


time slip

by AlmondRose



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 05:53:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20483945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlmondRose/pseuds/AlmondRose
Summary: There's a mishap with time, and six Robins meet.





	time slip

**Author's Note:**

> title from Time Warp because i WANTED to name this fic "lets do the time warp again" but that seemed wordy and also now the song is stuck in my head but WHATEVER

There is a time vortex, and a malfunction, and in the end there are six people on top of the Wayne Enterprises building. 

They look at each other in shock and take in the matching outfits, the red and yellow and green. All of them have some idea what’s going on, who they’re seeing, except the youngest (who is really the oldest). 

“Wait,” he says, his eyes wide. “There are more Robins?”

“There must’ve been something that altered time,” says the third Robin, who is clever. He is not yet wearing the red and black costume of mourning, and when he looks at the group around him, he only knows the second and first Robins by name. “It’s the only explanation.”

“Of course,” the fifth Robin huffs, exasperated. Unlike his brother, he recognizes everyone except the sixth, and he wishes he didn’t. Under his mask, his eyes rocket skyward. “Just my luck to be stuck with _ you _imbeciles.”

“Awfully judgemental, aren’t you?” the third Robin notes. 

“I have a 4.0 GPA,” the second Robin says. “I don’t think I’m stupid.”

All of the Robins stare at him. This is unexpected. 

“Okay, I’ll admit I don’t know what’s going on,” the sixth Robin says. “I’m barely even a real Robin, I’ve only met Batman like...twice.”

“Why are you in the costume, then?” the fourth Robin asks, her arms crossed. She’s afraid, a little, and nervous to be in the presence of all these other Robins. She doesn’t like that she’s the only girl.

“It’s complicated,” the sixth Robin says. The other Robin accepts that at face value. 

“How do we know the order?” the second Robin asks. “I mean, I know I’m second, and he’s first.” He points at the first Robin. “And apparently, after us you guys put on some real pants.”

“It’s a traditional acrobatic outfit,” the first Robin protests, and the second says, “I know, I’m just yanking your chain.”

“I’m the third,” the third says. 

“I’m next,” the fourth says, tossing her ponytail and trying to be brave. She knows the first and third Robins, although not this young. 

“I suppose I am forced to admit I am not the last Robin,” the fifth one says, glaring at the sixth, who shrugs and says, “Again, I’m not like, a _ real _Robin.”

“What purpose did that exercise serve?” the fifth Robin hisses. 

“Well, we need a leader,” the second Robin says. “But I guess it doesn’t matter who’s technically oldest, just who’s actually oldest.”

“Why should the oldest--” the fifth Robin starts to protest, but all of these Robins are young, and to young people, the oldest is in charge. 

They look at each other. 

“Don’t look at me,” the sixth Robin says. 

“I’m eleven,” the first Robin says. The fifth blinks. 

“I’m twelve,” he admits, staring at his mentor as if just realizing that the first Robin is a _ child. _

“Thirteen,” the third says. “But I’m almost fourteen.”

“And I’m actually fourteen,” the second Robin admits easily. The ones after him wince at this casual admittance of his age, at the reveal of this ticking time bomb they know will go off only too soon. 

The fourth Robin’s eyes widen. Oh no, she thinks. Oh no. 

The others are looking at her expectantly, and she clears her throat. 

“I’m sixteen,” she whispers, her voice hollow, and the others nod. 

“I’m only fifteen, anyway,” the sixth Robin says, evidently relieved, and the second one says, “Girl Robin is in charge, then.”

“I beg of you to reconsider,” the fifth Robin says, and something in the way his voice snarls makes the fourth Robin’s fists clench. She looks around at them, determined. They are all looking to her. 

“Fine,” she says. “I’ll be in charge. Our first order of business is to figure out who’s timeline we’re _ really _in. The easiest way would be to ask Oracle.”

“Who’s Oracle?” the first Robin asks, eyes wide. 

“Don’t worry about that,” the fourth Robin says. “Everyone who can, try to get in touch.”

She touches her own ear, and the third and fifth mimic the gesture. 

Oracle does not answer any of them. 

“Okay,” the fourth Robin says. “Let’s find a newspaper. What year is it?” 

She points to the first Robin. 

“2005,” he says. She points to the second. 

“2012,” he says. 

“2014,” the third Robin says. 

“2017,” the fifth says. 

“2018,” the sixth says. The fourth nods. 

“Alright,” she says. “And I’m from 2015. Everyone remember? Okay. Let’s go find a newspaper.”

They leap from the rooftop together. The fourth Robin watches the sixth, since he said he’s new, but he has a grapple, and he can use it. They don’t go straight down, just away from Wayne Towers, and towards somewhere they can be inconspicuous. The fourth Robin is aware that she’s in the lead, and she realizes they could just go back to the Manor, that would solve their problem of what year it was. 

But no, instead she casts her gaze instinctively to the spot in the sky where the signal gleams, and it’s not there. She falters and stops at the next rooftop. 

“This isn’t a newspaper,” the fifth Robin snarks once everyone else has stopped. 

“Was the signal on?” she asks, and the others exchange a look. “Answer me!”

“Yes,” the third says. 

“Yes,” the second says. 

“Yes,” the sixth says. 

“Yes,” the first says. 

“Yes,” the fifth admits. 

“Look,” the fourth says, and she points at the sky where the signal isn’t. “Someone turned it off. No matter what year we’re in, someone turned it off.”

The others exchange looks, although none of them know each other, not as Robin, anyway. The fourth Robin remembers that she _ does _know the third Robin, but she thinks she’s the only exception. 

“We’re going to GCPD,” she says. “We have to see why they turned the signal off.”

“What about the newspapers?” the first Robin asks. “We still don’t know what year it is.”

“If the person who messed with time turned off the signal, than we can confront them,” the fourth Robin says. 

“There could be a newspaper on the way, anyway,” the second Robin reasons.

“Or something else to clue us in,” the third says. 

“Exactly,” the fourth Robin says. “Let’s go.”

Surprisingly, the others don’t really argue, and the fourth Robin leads the way. 

In front of the Batsignal, there are six shapes. They are standing in a perfect circle, the same distance apart. One is shorter than the others. The fourth Robin squints at them from her spot behind the signal, the others crowded around her. 

“Which is which?” the sixth Robin whispers. 

The fourth Robin gets up and goes to the back of the signal. The others follow her, even the stubborn fifth Robin. 

She signals, and the second Robin flips the switch and turns the light on. 

The six Batmen turn, five dropping into a matching fighting position and the sixth into a different one. 

“You all had better be time-displaced Batmen, otherwise we’re gonna be_ really mad _,” the fourth Robin calls, flipping herself up to stand on top of the signal. The second and third Robins point the light at the Batmen instead of the sky. 

“Spoiler?” the Batman who seems to be in charge says. He must be the oldest, although the fourth Robin thinks it’s weird that he would call her Spoiler when she’s not that anymore. 

“Wrong,” she says, crossing her arms. She’s behind the light, and they can’t see her. “Boys, be ready.”

“How many are there?” in-charge Batman says. 

“Six,” another Batman says. Even from here, the fourth Robin can tell he’s a younger one. “There’s six of us, why wouldn’t there be six of them.”

“Chum,” a different Batman says, holding out his hand. “Come here.” The fourth Robin hears movement behind her and she holds out a hand. 

“We don’t know that this isn’t a trick,” she says. “How do we know you’re who you say you are?”

“Do you want your secret identities?” the different-Batman says. The other Batmen glare at him. 

“Come on, Rob,” the third Robin says. “We should be able to identify our own Batmen.”

“The Batmen could certainly identify their own Robins,” the second Robin says. The fourth Robin sees four of the six Batmen flinch at the sound of his voice. “I mean, come on, we all have different costumes.”

“Ours are the same,” the first says, gesturing at the second. The fourth Robin looks away from them and back to the Batmen. 

“I already know my Batman,” the fifth Robin drawls. “I am fairly sure this isn’t a trick.”

“Are you saying there’s six Robins back there?” the different-Batman says, sounding like he might laugh. There’s something familiar about him, the fourth Robin decides. Definitely not Bruce, but familiar. 

“Hm,” one of the Batmen says.

“There’s more than one Robin?” a Batman asks, and the fourth Robin knows which one _ that _is. 

“I mean, they seem time-displaced,” she says, and the fifth Robin scoffs. 

“To hell with this,” he says, and he breaks out of the gaggle below the signal and steps into the light, heading straight for the different-Batman. 

“Language,” the different-Batman says, laughing for real this time, and the fourth Robin wonders why he would be different but the sixth Batman is still Bruce. 

“Fine,” she says. “Find your Batman, or whatever.”

The others listen to her, and leave the shadows. One of the Batmen puts his hand on the sixth Robin’s shoulder and guides him away. The first Batman permits the first Robin to hug him. 

The various Batman stare at the second Robin, except the one who claims him as the correct time. The second Robin doesn’t seem to notice. 

The last two Batmen stare at the third Robin, and the fourth feels a little sick. They’re only one year different, after all, and she knows she wasn’t the first choice of a Robin. 

She jumps from the signal but stays near it, watching their showdown and staying by herself. 

“What’s going on?” the sixth Robin asks her, dragging his Batman behind him. 

“He hates me,” she says, gesturing.

“I mean….you’re Robin, aren’t you? He probably doesn’t hate you,” the sixth Robin says. 

“I made him make me Robin,” the fourth Robin says. “He didn’t chose me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” the sixth Batman says unexpectedly. “I had a lot of issues, back then.”

“And you don’t still?” the fourth Robin asks him, raising her eyebrow. 

“A fair point,” the sixth Batman says, and Robin’s mouth drops. He never agrees with her! “Close your mouth, Robin.”

She does, and she looks back at the Tim Trio. The third Robin seems to have claimed his Batman, and the other one is kind of watching her talk to the sixth Batman and Robin. 

“You were always one of the best,” the sixth Batman says, his voice soft and weirdly tender.

“Better than Tim?” she asks instead of addressing that, grinning. 

“Go to your own Batman,” the sixth Batman says.

“That’s not a no,” the fourth Robin sing-songs, but she listens anyway, and goes over to the only Batman by himself. 

“Fifth Batman is staring at second Robin still,” she says. “Embarrassing.”

“Actually, he’s looking at you,” her Batman says, and when the fourth Robin turns to see if that’s true, the fifth Batman has changed his gaze to look at the first Robin, instead. Some dots attempt to connect in Robin’s head, but she ignores them because that makes no sense.

“Sure he was,” she says instead. “Whatever. Let’s go home.”

The sixth Batman is in charge of the Batmen, since he’s oldest, and the Robins follow their Batmen. The Time-Turner is from 2018, but accidentally transported them all back to 2005. He apologizes profusely upon seeing six Batmen and Robins, and everyone goes back home. 

After Steph’s shower, she goes out into the cave in leggings and a t-shirt so someone can drive her back home. 

“Why don’t you stay tonight,” Bruce says, also freshly showered, and Steph blinks after him. He only lets her stay if she’s injured!

“Sure!” she says, and she follows him up into the Manor and to the hall with all the bedrooms. Before she goes into the guest room that she always uses, he clears his throat. 

“What you did today,” Bruce starts. “I mean. You were in charge?”

“Yes,” she says slowly. “They wanted the oldest to be in charge. It was Jason’s idea.”

Bruce flinches at the mention of his dead son, and then reaches out a hand to put on her shoulder. 

“I’m...proud of you,” he says, his voice a little strangled, and she stares at him, wide-eyed, until he releases her and goes to his own room, shutting the door firmly behind him. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed! comments/kudos always welcome ;)


End file.
